Ficlet: [untitled], (Dean/Cas/Sam, R)
Forgot about this! I wrote this for emerald_embers for the Five Acts Meme, for the prompt 'exhibitionism'. Reposted here for the sake of completion, because I'm anal (*snerk*) like that.
Pairing: Dean/Cas/Sam
Rating: Ummm, hard R
Disclaimer: Lies!
Summary: A back alley, two men and an angel. I'm sorry, were you looking for plot?
Words: 500 exactly. (!)
It's not exactly a secret to anyone that Dean is a beautiful thing, perfect in a way that men just shouldn't be - in a way that's gotten him into trouble more than once in his life. Hell, Sam's been aware of this fact for as long as he can remember, and Cas, who rewove the fibres of Dean himself, can hardly have missed it. Dean is gorgeous, even in his anger and his tears.
Like this, though - like this, he is at his zenith of beauty, with his head thrown back, long throat working around whimpers. There's a sex-flush rising up from his collarbones, creeping up his neck, and if this whole situation is ludicrous, then it's 80% Dean's fault: Dean, and his mouth like sin.
He's hard in Sam's mouth, thick push of him hammering into Sam's throat, and if they'd been alone, Sam would never have chanced this here. Dean's loud, always, vocal like nobody else Sam's ever known this way, and the alley is barely set back from the road; not even fully dark.
But then, they aren't alone. Dean's gone, by now; fingers twisting painfully in Sam's hair as he rocks his hips and shivers, leaking precome so copiously that it's dribbling from the corners of Sam's mouth. Dean's gone, but although Sam can hear each cry as it begins, Castiel is there to catch the sounds, swallowing them down, subsuming them in his grace. Glancing upward under his lashes in the orange half-darkness, Sam's perspective on the situation isn't the clearest, but he sees Dean's other hand clenched in the fabric of Castiel's shirt, right enough; Castiel's fingers clasped firm and strong on Dean's jaw. Castiel's other hand, Sam has no need to look for, its palm resting loosely, gently, at the juncture of Sam's neck and shoulder, bleeding warmth through the muscle as Sam works.
It's stupid, this, Sam knows, but they make each other stupid; Dean's smirks and Cas's wide blue eyes; their mutual desperation. It's stupid, with the shadows of passers-by half-seen in Sam's peripheral vision, but Dean's shivering under Sam's hands, and Sam doesn't care.
"Sam," Dean pants, mouth pulled away slackly from Cas's; "Jesus, Cas - " and then he's coming, thick hot pulses over Sam's tongue.
They hold him up together as his knees buckle, Sam standing only when they're sure that Dean is actually capable of independent movement. Sam's aching with the heat of it; aches a little more when Castiel turns towards him, opening his mouth to Sam's, licking the taste of Dean onto his own tongue.
It's stupid, the three of them, this recklessness, but, hell, it's all they've got. And giving it away - well. That would be far stupider.
**
And now I am ~up to date on fic posting. :)
Pairing: Dean/Cas/Sam
Rating: Ummm, hard R
Disclaimer: Lies!
Summary: A back alley, two men and an angel. I'm sorry, were you looking for plot?
Words: 500 exactly. (!)
It's not exactly a secret to anyone that Dean is a beautiful thing, perfect in a way that men just shouldn't be - in a way that's gotten him into trouble more than once in his life. Hell, Sam's been aware of this fact for as long as he can remember, and Cas, who rewove the fibres of Dean himself, can hardly have missed it. Dean is gorgeous, even in his anger and his tears.
Like this, though - like this, he is at his zenith of beauty, with his head thrown back, long throat working around whimpers. There's a sex-flush rising up from his collarbones, creeping up his neck, and if this whole situation is ludicrous, then it's 80% Dean's fault: Dean, and his mouth like sin.
He's hard in Sam's mouth, thick push of him hammering into Sam's throat, and if they'd been alone, Sam would never have chanced this here. Dean's loud, always, vocal like nobody else Sam's ever known this way, and the alley is barely set back from the road; not even fully dark.
But then, they aren't alone. Dean's gone, by now; fingers twisting painfully in Sam's hair as he rocks his hips and shivers, leaking precome so copiously that it's dribbling from the corners of Sam's mouth. Dean's gone, but although Sam can hear each cry as it begins, Castiel is there to catch the sounds, swallowing them down, subsuming them in his grace. Glancing upward under his lashes in the orange half-darkness, Sam's perspective on the situation isn't the clearest, but he sees Dean's other hand clenched in the fabric of Castiel's shirt, right enough; Castiel's fingers clasped firm and strong on Dean's jaw. Castiel's other hand, Sam has no need to look for, its palm resting loosely, gently, at the juncture of Sam's neck and shoulder, bleeding warmth through the muscle as Sam works.
It's stupid, this, Sam knows, but they make each other stupid; Dean's smirks and Cas's wide blue eyes; their mutual desperation. It's stupid, with the shadows of passers-by half-seen in Sam's peripheral vision, but Dean's shivering under Sam's hands, and Sam doesn't care.
"Sam," Dean pants, mouth pulled away slackly from Cas's; "Jesus, Cas - " and then he's coming, thick hot pulses over Sam's tongue.
They hold him up together as his knees buckle, Sam standing only when they're sure that Dean is actually capable of independent movement. Sam's aching with the heat of it; aches a little more when Castiel turns towards him, opening his mouth to Sam's, licking the taste of Dean onto his own tongue.
It's stupid, the three of them, this recklessness, but, hell, it's all they've got. And giving it away - well. That would be far stupider.
**
And now I am ~up to date on fic posting. :)